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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29468673">Nuts &amp; Bolts</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/fucker/pseuds/fucker'>fucker</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Chitty Chitty Bang Bang - All Media Types, Trouble in the Heights (2011)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Accidental Plot, Alternate Universe - Mechanics, Blow Jobs, M/M, Oral Sex</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 21:08:57</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,912</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29468673</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/fucker/pseuds/fucker</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Not all mechanics are assholes, just the good ones.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Caractacus Potts/Nevada Ramirez</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Valentine's Day 2021 exchange</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Nuts &amp; Bolts</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/StillNotMeShh/gifts">StillNotMeShh</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Everybody knows the one about the panda that eats shoots &amp; leaves, but have you heard the one about Nevada Ramirez?</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Caractacus gave the tow truck a halfhearted wave as it approached and pulled onto the shoulder ahead of him. A very large man with a clipboard hopped out of the cab, introduced himself as Hank, and patiently waited as a ruffled Caractacus explained the issue, scribbling a few things down as he listened.</p><p>"Name?"</p><p>"Caractacus Potts."</p><p>"What?"</p><p>Caractacus sighed and reached for the driver's clipboard. "Here, let me."</p><p>Hank shrugged and handed the paperwork over. He stepped onto the truck bed, unspooling a heavy-duty cable and fastening it under Caractacus's front bumper with a little effort, then leaned against the hood until the inventor had finished filling out his information. </p><p>Hank frowned at the paper. "Car-ac-ta-cus?"</p><p>"Close enough."</p><p>"Huh. Well, hop in and put this thing in neutral for me, would ya?"</p><p>Caractacus slid back into the driver's seat and shifted into neutral, giving Hank a thumbs up over the windshield. </p><p>"Alright, up we go."</p><p>The squeal of metal under stress made Caractacus wince, but Chitty made it up onto the truck in one piece. Hank waved him back out of the car, set the parking brake, and kicked a pair of blocks under the wheels before he climbed back into the cab and motioned for the inventor to join him. </p><p>"So, where to, boss?"</p><p>"Um..." Caractacus hadn't thought about that. He wasn't particularly new to the area, but with the closest subway stop just three blocks from his apartment he hadn't been driving much, hadn't had any need to bring his car in to get maintenance done, and therefore hadn't yet found a mechanic that he trusted. "Home, I guess? My address is..." he gestured at the clipboard lying on the seat between them.</p><p>"Manhattan," Hank observed with a look of mild displeasure. "D'you have a license?"</p><p>Caractacus fished his wallet out and handed his license over. </p><p>The man stared at it, unimpressed. "A <em> mechanic's </em> license, sir."</p><p>"Oh. I haven't got one."</p><p>"Well, for insurance purposes I gotta bring ya to someone who can actually fix your car."</p><p>"I don't..." Caractacus nervously scratched the back of his head. "I haven't got insurance, either."</p><p>Hank grunted and leaned against the wheel, tapping his pen against his chin in thought for a long moment, and Caractacus was afraid that he was going to be at the very least stranded for far longer than he'd anticipated, if not fined or possibly even arrested. </p><p>"So you're gonna fix this at your house?"</p><p>"Well..."  The inventor considered the question. The parts would take a week to arrive and his parking space barely allowed room to open the doors, let alone room to move around the hood with ease. Street parking was tough to find, especially in the winter, and his hands would almost certainly freeze solid before he could get any work done, but if he could find a spot and convince one of the neighbors to move their car for a few hours...</p><p>"Look, I know a guy. He's an asshole, but he's good at his job." Hank glanced at the clipboard again. "Pretty close to where you live, too."</p><p>"Is he, um... reasonable?"</p><p>Hank had no trouble picking up on Caractacus's meaning. "Cheapest around," he assured him.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Caractacus was surprised when they pulled up to a lot a few blocks from his apartment. He'd been by the place several times while out and about— the door seemed to be sporting new graffiti each time he passed it, the coils of barbed wire atop the chain link fence were beginning to rust out, and he'd never seen a soul go in or out. He'd always assumed it was defunct, but Hank laid on the horn twice and the door promptly rolled up.</p><p>A man in grey coveralls knotted at the waist met them in the garage, wiping his hands on a shop rag as Hank lowered Chitty into the rightmost bay. He didn't look particularly happy, and his scowl only deepened as the driver joined them on the floor. </p><p>"<em>¿Qué carajo es esto?</em>" The man socked Hank in the shoulder.</p><p>Caractacus flinched, but Hank, a good foot taller than the mechanic, barely moved with the punch. "Good to see you too, 'Vada."</p><p>"<em>¿Qué dije sobre traerme esta puta basura?</em>" He gestured angrily at the car. </p><p>Hank, completely unfazed, simply shrugged. "<em>No recuerdo.</em>" He turned back to Caractacus. "Says he's happy to take care of you."</p><p>Caractacus didn't feel like that was necessarily true, but his attention was drawn away from that fact by the mechanic finally acknowledging his presence. </p><p>"Nevada." He extended a hand in Caractacus's direction. He was quite greasy, sporting several black smudges up and down his bare forearms and a broad streak across the bridge of his nose, but under all the grime he appeared to be relatively handsome. </p><p>The anger, thankfully, seemed to be directed at Hank for the most part, but Caractacus still maintained a safe distance as he gingerly shook, preparing himself for another outburst. "Caractacus Potts."</p><p>The man did a double take at the accent, not bothering to cover his surprise. "What?"</p><p>"Nothing. Just Jack is fine."</p><p>"Jack?"</p><p>Caractacus nodded. </p><p>"Your name is Jack Potts."</p><p>"Yes."</p><p>Nevada muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like <em> 'of course it is'</em>, but Caractacus diplomatically ignored it, still not completely convinced that he wasn't going to be assaulted.</p><p>Nevada spared the vehicle no more than a cursory glance before he turned back to Caractacus and thumped the passenger door with a fist. "Total it for you for a hundred bucks."</p><p>"Total it?"</p><p>"Look, I dunno how it works over in Scotland or whatever, but American insurance companies will scam you outta the shirt on your back, so if I write this thing off as totaled—"</p><p>"I don't have insurance."</p><p>"He ain't insured."</p><p>Hank spoke up at the same time that Caractacus did, and the inventor glanced at him before turning back to Nevada. </p><p>"And I don't want you to total my car!"</p><p>"Fine, fine." Nevada kicked one of the tires a bit vindictively, but didn't press the issue. "You know what's wrong with it?"</p><p>"It's just the belt. I'd do it myself, but I don't really have the space right now."</p><p>"Well, that's an easy fix. Nothin' else?"</p><p>Caractacus was long overdue for an oil change, the muffler was patched with duct tape in three places, and the AC hadn't worked in years. "Not that I know of," he lied.</p><p>"Well, good news is you're only lookin' at a couple hundred. Plus whatever you owe my friend here." He gestured at Hank, whom Caractacus looked up at expectantly. </p><p>Hank scratched his head, then shrugged. "Forty cash and we're even."</p><p>The inventor dug his wallet out and thumbed through a stack of crumpled receipts and old, coffee-stained sketches, finally extricating three sad-looking singles and a five.</p><p>"<em>Jesus Christ</em>," Nevada muttered. He fished a handful of neatly folded bills out of a side pocket, peeled off two twenties and held them out to Hank. </p><p>"I don't need—" Caractacus began, but his protests were waved away. </p><p>"Don't worry, it's goin' on your bill."</p><p>Job done and tab settled, Hank handed over a carbon copy of the paperwork, sauntered back to his truck and departed with a wave, which Nevada returned with a decidedly unprofessional one-fingered salute. Caractacus nervously watched him go, less than enthused to be left alone with a man who had just expressed interest in demolishing his car.</p><p>Nevada frowned at the form. "Car-ac-ta-cus," he muttered, more to himself than anything.</p><p>Caractacus resisted the urge to scuff his toes against the concrete floor as he watched Nevada circle his vehicle once, and then again, with no apparent intentions of communicating any further. "Thank you, I suppose," he offered, unsure of what he was expected to do next.</p><p>"Don't mention it."</p><p>"So... the bad news?"</p><p>"Huh?"</p><p>"You said a couple hundred was the good news, right?"</p><p>"Oh. I got a few things to take care of first." Nevada gestured at a half-dismantled Jeep in the next bay over, and the completely unidentifiable guts of a mid-size bike in the one next to that. "Won't be done until tomorrow."</p><p>Caractacus shrugged. It was already after three, and he didn't have anywhere else to be until Wednesday. "That's okay."</p><p>Nevada grunted in affirmation and turned away from him, heading to the back wall where a full set of wheels was leaning against the corrugated metal. He swung one onto his left shoulder, hefted a second in his right hand, and turned back around to find Caractacus staring. </p><p>Caractacus blushed, his gaze sliding from Nevada's arms to his substantial shoulders and back to his face, now sporting a slight smirk.</p><p>"You're still here. You need an Uber or somethin'?"</p><p>The inventor may not have picked up on the first less-than-obvious dismissal, but that one was a little harder to miss. Embarrassed, he waved a hand in the general direction of his apartment, backing slowly toward the open garage door. "No, no, I live close. See you tomorrow?" he added, a bit unnecessarily.</p><p>"Any time after two."</p><p>Caractacus gave him a thumbs up, instantly cringed at the awkwardness of the gesture, and hastily retreated, waiting until he'd turned the corner onto the sidewalk to berate himself. </p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>He hadn't realized until after the fact that he had no way of letting Nevada know when he was coming, but he needn't have worried. The garage door was wide open, and he tentatively stepped inside, scanning the dim, open space for the mechanic as his eyes readjusted to the light.</p><p>"Hello?"</p><p>"<em>¿Quién es?</em>"</p><p>Something metallic hit the floor and Nevada slid out from under a car that hadn't been there yesterday, a wrench in his hand and a lit cigarette between his lips. Caractacus wasn't sure how many safety violations he was committing with that, but he imagined it was at least half a dozen. He kept that thought to himself and raised a hand in greeting. He was nervous, especially now that he didn't have Hank to back him up, but Nevada seemed to be in a better mood than yesterday.</p><p>"Ah, it's you." He looked almost pleased to see the inventor. He sat up and tossed his wrench aside, taking one last drag from his cigarette before he stubbed it out on the floor. "Thought I mighta scared you away, Jackpots."</p><p>"Nearly, but not quite."</p><p>Nevada pushed himself to his feet with a grin. He wiped his hands on the hem of his shirt and Caractacus's eyes followed the movement, his gaze skimming the narrow band of exposed skin at Nevada's waist before he could stop himself.</p><p>"Up here, <em> guapetón</em>."</p><p>Caractacus had no idea what that insult meant, but he guiltily jerked his eyes back up to Nevada's face all the same, feeling himself redden slightly. He opened his mouth to apologize, but the mechanic beat him to the punch. </p><p>"You had a taillight out."</p><p>"I did?" Caractacus didn't find it particularly hard to believe. If Nevada was trying to jack up what he owed he would've picked something worth more than twenty bucks. </p><p>"Mhmm. Gave her a quick tune-up." Nevada patted the hood. "Steering was all outta whack, so I realigned that for you. Rotated your tires, topped off the wiper juice, clean oil, fresh filters, new spark plugs."</p><p>Caractacus tried not to grimace at the laundry list of unexpected but mostly necessary maintenance. "A <em> quick </em> tune-up?" he asked as lightly as possible, slightly worried about how much the extra work was going to tack onto his bill. </p><p>"I work fast."</p><p>"I guess so."</p><p>Nevada raised an eyebrow but said nothing. He retrieved his clipboard from the back seat and gestured over his shoulder toward a small room in the far corner of the garage. "C'mon back, we'll settle up."</p><p>Caractacus followed him towards the back, but stopped as they passed the car in the last bay, his attention drawn to a handful perforations in the windshield, each about a finger's width in diameter and surrounded by a web of fractured glass. "Are those—"</p><p>"Nope." Nevada opened the door to his office and stepped aside to let Caractacus past. "In here."</p><p>Inside, the walls were plastered with F1 posters and Cadillac ads, and the office was surprisingly warm compared to the garage. There was a desk in the middle of the room, a water cooler in the corner, and a small, flannel cat bed near the door, although no sign of its occupant. An old sofa against the left wall faced the desk, the fabric faded beyond recognition and the cushions threadbare to the point of showing exposed patches of stuffing. It looked like it had been on its last legs for a very long while, and it creaked as Caractacus perched gingerly on the arm, but remained in one piece.</p><p>"Alright." Nevada closed the door behind himself, locked it, and leaned against it with his arms crossed. "You gonna tell me what the fuck that thing is?"</p><p>His body language was just aggressive enough that Caractacus's heart rate spiked. "What do you mean?"</p><p>"You think I wouldn't notice fifteen grand's worth of engine stuffed in that piece of junk?"</p><p>Caractacus frowned. "It's not a piece of junk."</p><p>"The fuck you need that kind of horsepower for?"</p><p>"I don't know. Nothing," he lied. </p><p>"What's it got <em> fins </em> for?"</p><p>"Fins?" It took him a moment to realize that Nevada was talking about the retractable wings. He didn't correct him. "Oh. Those are just... an experiment."</p><p>"An experi— wait, <em> you </em> did that?"</p><p>"...Yes?" The expression on Nevada's face was unreadable, and Caractacus nervously watched him cross to the desk, trying not to let his gaze shift too obviously to the lock on the door. "Or— or no, maybe, if that's a more satisfactory answer?"</p><p>"<em>An experiment</em>." Nevada repeated, shaking his head to himself. "Is it street safe? Sure, probably."  He gestured at Caractacus with the end of his pen. "You look like you drive like a pussy."</p><p>That was a reasonable assessment. Caractacus did have two children in the car with him at most times, after all. He didn't particularly<em> appreciate </em> the assessment, but it was fair.</p><p>"Street <em> legal</em>?" Nevada continued. "Fuck no."</p><p>"What do you mean? I got it inspected last—"</p><p>"Like hell you did. You gonna convince me to pretend like I didn't see the fake sticker?"</p><p>Caractacus squeezed his eyes shut and let out a slow breath, considering his options. There weren't very many, and losing his only form of transportation outside of the city absolutely wasn't one of them. "All I have on me is the forty I owe you, but I can—"</p><p>"Relax, I'm joking." Nevada rummaged through his desk and pulled out a handful of blue paper stickers. "You want a real one?"</p><p>Caractacus eyed him with no small amount of distrust. "How much?"</p><p>"On the house."</p><p>"What's the catch?"</p><p>"No catch, take it."</p><p>Nevada flicked a single sticker across the room at him. It fell a bit short, and Caractacus picked it up from where it landed on the floor, turning it over in his palm to examine the four digits printed on the front. He had no idea why the mechanic was suddenly being so kind to him, but the fact that he would now be able to use his car for another full year without worrying about being pulled over for the sticker was such an overwhelming relief that he very nearly teared up. </p><p>He blinked several times at the floor, only speaking again once he trusted his voice to hold steady. "Thank you."</p><p>"Sure thing."</p><p>"I, um..." Caractacus had the feeling that a heartfelt expression of gratitude wouldn't be particularly appreciated. He pulled out his wallet instead, tucking the sticker away to punch later and pulling out the two twenties that he'd stopped at the ATM for. "What do I owe you?"</p><p>Nevada waved a dismissive hand at him. "Don't worry about it."</p><p>"Are you—" Caractacus's voice cracked despite his efforts to keep himself composed, and he quickly averted his gaze before Nevada could see him well up again. "Are you sure?"</p><p>"Yup."</p><p>"I don't— here." Caractacus blindly shoved the pair of bills in his hand towards Nevada. "For the tow."</p><p>"I said don't worry about it."</p><p>"Nevada, I can't let you—"</p><p>"Maybe I don't want your fuckin' money. New customer special."</p><p>"So you fix every new customer's car for free?"</p><p>"Yup."</p><p>"And pay their towing bill."</p><p>"Yup."</p><p>On the positive side, Caractacus's growing frustration had made his brain forget that he'd been on the verge of tears just seconds ago. He scowled, unsure of what kind of game the mechanic was playing and uninterested in playing along. "Look, just let me give you what I owe and I'll be out of your hair."</p><p>"How many times do I have to tell you? I ain't takin' your money."</p><p>"But I— if you aren't even charging for parts, how can you possibly afford to stay in business?"</p><p>"Low prices keep people happy, happy people leave good reviews, and good reviews keep the traffic comin'." Nevada expertly skirted the question with such confidence that for a moment Caractacus almost believed that it truly was just as simple as that.</p><p>"But—"</p><p>"You got a job?" Nevada interrupted.</p><p>"What? Why?"</p><p>"Just decided I'm hiring."</p><p>"Oh. Well..." Caractacus couldn't tell if it was a genuine offer or if he was just trying to change the subject, but either way he had no desire to work for such a volatile, unpredictable boss. "No, not at the moment, but I'm not really looking for one."</p><p>"You live in Manhattan with kids and carry eight dollars in cash, and you're tellin' me you don't need a job?"</p><p>Caractacus didn't mention that the only reason he had cash on him at all was because the card reader at the bodega had been down all week. "How do you know I have kids?"</p><p>Nevada raised an eyebrow. "Well, unless all those crayons in the backseat are yours..." </p><p>"I've been meaning to tidy up back there," Caractacus sighed. "It's not that I don't appreciate the offer, but I pick up enough odd jobs to cover food, and I have an arrangement with my landlord."</p><p>"An arrangement?"</p><p>"I do him a few favors and he doesn't charge me for rent."</p><p>"Favors." Nevada cocked his head to one side, chewing the end of his pen.</p><p>"<em>Oh!</em>" Caractacus blushed, realizing what that must've sounded like. "No, not— not like that. I— <em> legal </em> favors, I mean."</p><p>"Legal favors, huh?"</p><p>"Maintenance and repairs, mostly," he clarified, loath to have Nevada believe that he was anything less than legitimate.</p><p>"How do you feel about illegal favors?"</p><p>"Illegal— um, well..." Caractacus ran a hand over the back of his neck, more than a bit uncomfortable with this tangent they'd gone off on. "I suppose that's none of my business, really."</p><p>"And if I make it your business?"</p><p>Caractacus blinked. His confusion was quickly allayed as Nevada pulled the pen from his lips and placed the end against his zipper, just below where his coveralls were tied around his waist. He leaned back against his desk and slowly, deliberately pushed his cock into view, the hard outline of a considerable erection materializing through the loose fabric. </p><p>"Takes you a minute to catch on, doesn't it."</p><p>Caractacus turned beet red, unable to look away. "Oh, I'm not— I'm not—"</p><p>"What, not gay? Not easy? Not interested? That's all negotiable." Nevada laughed at the look on his face. "Don't think I didn't see you looking, Jackpots."</p><p>"No, I— I'm..." Caractacus wasn't necessarily gay, but that didn't mean he wasn't interested. "Not particularly... good at that," he managed.</p><p>"Not good at what?"</p><p>"I don't know. That." Caractacus gestured at Nevada's crotch, his cheeks on fire. "With my mouth."</p><p>"Hm." Nevada poked at his erection again, adjusting it to point directly at Caractacus. "Who said anything about your mouth?"</p><p>That was a fair point. Caractacus couldn't pretend that he didn't know exactly why he'd jumped straight to that conclusion, and he regretted saying anything at all. He clamped his mouth shut, ears ringing as he willed the concrete floor to open up and swallow him.</p><p>"C'mere."</p><p>Caractacus shook his head, his eyes fixed on the toes of the mechanic's boots to avoid making accidental eye contact.</p><p>"Come over here."</p><p>Nevada was in no way his superior, and Caractacus was free to get up, unlock the door and go as he pleased. The only reason he was still there at all was the fact that his conscience wouldn't let him walk out on the debt that he owed; the debt which Nevada was stubbornly refusing to let him settle. </p><p>He pushed himself to his feet and hesitantly approached the other man, studiously watching him for any tics, changes in posture, or sudden movements despite the fact that he didn't seem outwardly angry. </p><p>"You wanna walk away?" Nevada tugged the papers free from his clipboard once Caractacus was within arms reach, neatly folded them twice, and held them out in an unagressive but emphatic gesture. "Go ahead."</p><p>Caractacus glanced from Nevada to the invoice and back. He shook his head. </p><p>"What do you want?"</p><p>He tentatively lowered himself to his knees at Nevada's feet. He kept one hand on the mechanic's thigh to balance himself and lightly placed the other over his cock, cupping him through his jumpsuit. </p><p>"Walk away, Caractacus." Perhaps it was Caractacus's willingness, or his own guilt at having backed him into this situation, but something in Nevada's voice had changed. The authoritative edge was gone, and the mechanic sounded regretful; almost sad, in a way. "You can do better."</p><p><em> Loneliness</em>, he realized. <em> Nevada was lonely</em>. The prickly exterior and impromptu job offer both suddenly made a lot more sense. He instinctively tightened his grip on Nevada's thigh, putting as much empathy into the simple gesture as he could manage. "Maybe I don't want to do better."</p><p>"Hmm."</p><p>Caractacus slipped two fingers under the hem of Nevada's shirt, tugging gently at the thin cotton. "Can you take this off?"</p><p>"You like a view, huh?" </p><p>The request had been less about the view and more about the physical contact, but either way, Caractacus was glad to hear the arrogance creeping back into his voice. Nevada pulled his tank top off with one hand and let it fall to the floor.</p><p>It hadn't been hiding much of anything, but Caractacus let himself take in the full expanse of newly bared skin. Nevada had to be close to his age, but he clearly still took good care of himself, and the definition in his chest and arms was impressive for a man of <em> any </em> age. </p><p>He was hairy, his chest covered with coarse curls that tapered into a narrow trail just below the soft curve of his pectorals. The tattoo that wound around his left shoulder ended halfway down his chest, running along the edge of one pec and looping around on itself before it disappeared back into the thick black lines that curled down his bicep.</p><p>There were a few greasy fingerprints on his right side just below his ribs, undoubtedly where he'd scratched at an itch without thinking about it, and Caractacus rubbed them away with his thumb one at a time, gently kissing each spot in turn once the marks were gone. His own cheeks felt quite warm, but Nevada's skin was warmer, and he resisted the urge to nuzzle his face against the mechanic's body as he continued to slowly trail kisses down towards his cock. </p><p>"You're stalling."</p><p>He was, but oddly enough, he didn't mind Nevada being able to read him like that. He said nothing, continuing down the mechanic's stomach just as slowly until the tied arms of his jumpsuit stopped him in his tracks. Caractacus methodically worked his fingers into the tight knot, unraveling it with a little effort.</p><p>With the arms no longer hugging his hips and no belt to hold them up, the loose-fitting coveralls slipped partway down Nevada's thighs. He had nothing on underneath, and his cock bobbed in the air an inch from Caractacus's face, hard and in need of attention.</p><p>Caractacus wrapped a loose fist around him and gave him a slow, experimental stroke, praying that the other man wouldn't be able to feel him trembling with nerves. He looked up to search Nevada's face for any hesitance, but the mechanic was already pushing his hips forward, thrusting into Caractacus's hand. He withdrew and thrust forward again, clearly impatient with his lack of urgency. </p><p>Caractacus tightened his last two fingers, countering the rhythm that Nevada set and meeting him halfway with each stroke, slowly tightening his grip even further as Nevada continued to fuck his fist.</p><p>His fingers grazed Nevada's crown, a single, slick bead of precome dripping from his cock in response, and Caractacus leaned forward to lick it up without thinking. Nevada froze and he looked up, a small thrill traveling down his spine as he met the mechanic's hungry gaze. </p><p>"You gotta be fuckin' kidding me."</p><p>Caractacus dragged his tongue over the head of Nevada's erection again in lieu of an answer, and either the mechanic was playing up his reactions for the sake of Caractacus's ego, or he wasn't as rusty as he'd thought. The former hardly seemed likely, and he smiled to himself as Nevada throbbed in his palm. </p><p>Nevada had so far refrained from touching him, but Caractacus didn't miss the way his grip tightened on the edge of the desk. He took Nevada by one wrist and guided his hand to the back of his head, lacing his fingers between the mechanic's as he let the tip of his cock slip past his lips. He tightened his hold and Nevada took the hint, threading a hand into his hair and curling his fingers into a fist, keeping Caractacus in place as he eased himself to the back of his throat.</p><p>Caractacus swallowed and Nevada groaned, keeping himself pressed against the entrance to his airway for a long moment before he pulled away again. Caractacus drew in a breath, his tongue finding the vein that ran along the underside of Nevada's shaft, tracing it lightly as the mechanic pushed back into his mouth. </p><p>He let his tongue move with Nevada but otherwise kept his jaw slack, allowing Nevada to use his mouth with as little resistance as possible. He was out of practice, unable to relax his throat on command, but the mechanic seemed to be enjoying himself all the same, throbbing lightly each time the head of his cock met the back of Caractacus's throat. </p><p>The soft noises that Caractacus was making quickly turned to moans. He slid both hands up to Nevada's hips, his tongue running over and around the ridge of the mechanic's crown, teasing his slit, licking as much of that thick, beautiful vein as he could reach. </p><p>"Gonna come," Nevada groaned, gripping the base of his cock and jerking himself hard as he continued to thrust in and out of Caractacus's mouth, his pace quickly becoming rough and irregular.</p><p>Caractacus reflexively sealed his lips around Nevada to catch the mess, and a bitter warmth flooded his mouth a second later. He breathed shallowly through his nose as Nevada shot pulse after pulse of come over the back of his tongue, his eyes watering as he diligently resisted the urge to gag until the mechanic finally pulled out of his mouth. </p><p>He surreptitiously scanned the room for somewhere he could covertly spit Nevada's load, but there wasn't so much as a single wastebin in sight. He grimaced, held his breath and swallowed.</p><p>He was a bit of a mess, and he wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, turning to Nevada who'd already claimed the sofa. "Do you have a washroom?"</p><p>"Mhmm." Nevada didn't elaborate. </p><p>"...May I use it?"</p><p>"Nope. Employees only."</p><p>Caractacus's eyes widened in disbelief. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, unable to even <em> begin </em> to formulate a response to that. He scowled and retrieved Nevada's undershirt from the floor, shooting the mechanic an insolent glare as he wiped his face and hands on that instead.</p><p>Nevada watched him with amusement, Caractacus's look of obvious irritation undermined entirely by his mussed hair and the erection cartoonishly tenting the front of his pants. "Come work for me," he proposed again, this time sounding almost hopeful. </p><p>Caractacus wiped the sweat from the back of his neck and ran a hand through his hair, somehow only making it worse. He’d be lying to himself if he said he didn't need the money; in fact he'd been lying to himself about his financial situation for some time now. "Part-time," he offered, prepared to bargain for the hours he wanted if need be.</p><p>"Sure."</p><p>"No weekends."</p><p>"Done."</p><p>"I get to use your equipment for personal projects."</p><p>"Seems like you already got a head start on that one," Nevada smirked.</p><p>Caractacus ignored the crude joke and stubbornly crossed his arms, waiting for an answer. </p><p>"Fine, fine. Long as it's off the clock."</p><p>Caractacus blinked, out of demands to make and surprised that not a single one had been contested.</p><p>"Anything else?" Nevada asked. </p><p>"Can I use the washroom now?"</p><p>"Don't see why not." The mechanic yawned and swung his legs onto the couch, stretching out with his arms behind his head. "I need a fuckin' nap. See you Monday, Jackpots."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Please feel free to <a href="https://fuckerao3.tumblr.com/ask">message</a> or <a href="https://www.tumblr.com/message/fuckerao3">DM</a> me with questions, suggestions, or requests (no promises), or if you'd like to beta!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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